Holidays always sneak up on you—hell, time sneaks up on you and that’s what I think holidays are a good testament to. You have your regular life that goes along on its regular ways and no matter what drama is, or isn’t, going on to make it interesting, holidays will always be there. I think the cliche should read: There are three of life’s certainties: Death, taxes and holidays.
And here another one comes and goes: Easter–the resurrection of Christ. I come from a fairly religious background, so Easter was always celebrated. To avoid a monstrous monologue dissecting my previous and current thoughts on organized religion, I’ll sum it up like this: I’m a loving, spiritual soul who doesn’t partake in traditional worship practices. Damn, even summing it up into that sentence was hard. My partner, her family and the majority of my friends and acquaintances are along the same religious-lines as I, which makes my young independent life a little different than the one I grew up in. Anyway, when the Christian holidays roll around and I’m not with my church-going family—I find myself missing some of the traditions.
This Easter was a perfect example. Since January my mother has been pleading that I come home for Easter weekend, yet for various reasons, I didn’t. That left the date of Easter nebulous in my mind. I didn’t even write it down in my Moleskin planner. Then four nights ago my partner and I were staying up late talking in bed and she reminded me that Easter was, in fact, around the corner. It was that weird time of night when you’re far from asleep, yet far from awake. I find that during these moments I come up with the most inhibited ideas. Had I been fully awake, I likely would’ve let the day go without demanding a feast for just the two of us.
“What? Easter is THIS Sunday? And neither of us have plans with family? Whoa. We need to have an egg hunt, eat ham and HOT CROSSED BUNS!” I murmured gleefully. And yay for me; she agreed.
Beyond all the typical Easter-like fare, I was extra motivated to make hot crossed buns–I wanted the challenge I knew these bread rolls had in store for me. I researched and found the recipe to try.
Hot crossed buns were apparently the homemade Easter item of the year because my mother and step-grandmother were making them on the very same day. My mom called four times and sent three emails with details like: “I think my yeast was too old. They didn’t rise enough.” I couldn’t help but find it charming that we were all in the kitchen at the same time doing the same thing.
I started these little guys around 11am and finished them around 4pm… not bad for a hyper-detailed kitchen gal such as myself. I envy those who don’t have to look at recipes thirty million times and will allow things to become a mess. But that just ain’t me.
Being a rare baker and an even rarer yeasted-bread maker, I was nervous to bite into the lumps that came out of the oven. But when I did, I was praising the holy spirit for not letting my entire morning go to waste—they were delightful.
A few hours later I was shoving them on to the plates of the four girlfriends who took us up on our spontaneous Easter evening offer. Then what happened next was both unexpected and perfect.
“Should we pray?!” my friend Ledena asked. We all had plates full of buns, celery-root and leek mashed potatoes, spring salad and maple cured ham.
“Ya ya! Let’s hold hands and pray!” I shouted from the kitchen.
“Who’s going to say it?” she wondered.
“Umm; hello, there’s no hierarchy in this house—we all say it,” I responded shortly–as if to say: we pray so much in this house, we have rules about it.
So we did. We held hands and went around the table telling anecdotes about how much we love each other and how awesome our lives are because we’re all in it together. Then, of course, the punch line was delivered by my friend Halle: “Praise baby Jesus.”
We all agreed.
“Ya, this is looks so good—there’s no where I would rather be except here,” Ledena said. We were really letting ourselves get into it.
“Me too,” the rest of us said.
-Catherine
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